


Kissing the Lipless

by little_seahorse



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John-bot, Multi, Red Pants, dub-con, silly narrator, techno-kinky, what is this plot of which you speak?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_seahorse/pseuds/little_seahorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a damaged Bot, contemplating being recycled. He bumps into an old acquaintance, who introduces him to Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consulting Pain in the Arse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).



> This story came to me in the form of one filthy little idea wearing a little pair of red pants.  
> Unfortunately, I seem incapable of writing Just Filth, so tenuous world building commenced.
> 
> Also, why is there so little doll/bot fic in this fandom?? /tantrum
> 
> This is a work-in-progress, but feel throw all your feedback and concrit and dirty knickers at me immediately.
> 
> The narrator's voice is partly AtlinMerrick's fault, though she doesn't know it yet. The one filthy little idea is probably reapersun's fault. Red Pants Red Pants Red Pants. 
> 
> On with the filth! <3

John wondered if a terminal trip to the recycling plant would have been better than this.  
Technically it wasn't boredom he felt, if John can be said to feel anything as it is known to you or I.

Then again, most Bots didn't develop strange limps after being shot in the shoulder while serving their nation in desert wars.

The techs had been baffled. Baffled and amused, recommending John be shipped back to Blighty and decommissioned.

John Watson was built in Norfolk during the autumn of 2003. We join him in 2010, where he is quite near the end of his tether, inhabiting a small, bland room in a dormitory with atrocious industrial carpet.

There was a considerable part of John planning to walk into the Thames and flick his power switch from On to Off. Only the faint hope of finding some purpose, a fresh goal to strive for, kept him from finishing what the bullet to his steel and silicone shoulder had started.

John forced himself out into the crisp London air one afternoon, determined to escape his dreary excuse for a home for a few hours at least.

He didn't hear his name being called at first, and ignored it when he did.  
Mike Stamford caught up to him, and so they sat and awkwardly became reacquainted.

Stamford was still cheerful to a fault, John noted, no change from their time at Bart's. Mike had been the one to fine-tune and tweak John's medical programming, kitting him out with practical knowledge of anatomy, physiology, biology, chemistry, mathematics and pharmaceuticals that would have taken any other medical student a minimum of six years to learn. 

The bedside manner,however, which charmed and placated young and old, male and female alike, was all John.

He'd spent six months practicing after officially qualifying, before duty called in the form of conscription. The draft took in skilled and unskilled Bots without any history of serious circuitry damage, aged eighteen months and older. Her Majesty's forces did not require potential rogue Bots. Too unpredictable.

Sunlight pushed weakly through sheets of grey cloud, glinting off Mike's glasses when he chuckled and shook his head.

"You're the second person who's said that to me today."

John had hoped to avoid any discussion of his hopeless bedsit with anyone, ever, but now he was curious.

"Who was the first?"

 

+++

 

"Can I borrow your phone?"

John tried valiantly to school his facial features back into pleasant-neutral, despite the voice registering (vibrating, really) in his titanium pelvis before his CPU could process it.

"Here, use mine." John would like that expression of pleased surprise on him always, please thankyou.

More struggles with the lines of his face as the besuited creature stalked towards him.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John could have sworn he heard his heart whirring in the silence of the room, though, thank his lucky stars, it seemed the unfairly tall stranger could not.

By the time Sherlock Holmes (seriously?) swept from the lab in a swirl of drama and smugness, John Watson was halfway through Smitten, and approaching Arse Over Teakettle.

The only time he'd felt* more exposed was during his annual Defrag, skin pulled away from his frame in thick sheets, the better for technicians to observe and test his frame for damage. 

There was no question of ignoring the offer to look at the flat in Baker street. John would be there with figurative bells on. 

It was, after all, the most interesting thing to happen to John in months.

 

to be continued..


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has some feelings.

Unlike his life before Sherlock, the routines John followed now pleased him. Decidedly not dull. Which is not to say that washing the dishes was a cause for celebration, or that picking up after Sherlock wasn't mildly irritating, but the days had lost their booming silence and dreary lack of colour.

Making infinite cups of tea for Sherlock, for the occasional client wringing their hands in the living room, for Mrs Hudson, when he joined her for telly every other afternoon, proved diverting . It wasn't the most obvious example of his new-found sense of purpose, but it's enough to be getting on with.

John, despite what Sherlock might think or say, has a rather wide vocabulary. He has several words for what it feels* like to be Sherlock's flatmate, some of which may even have remained private.  
Before Sherlock, John was stuck in a cycle of Banal, Dull, Empty. Rinse, lather, repeat. Now, things were largely Thrilling, Unpredictable, New.

John does not realise that Sherlock is thinking the very same thing. He has proven his resilience, resourcefulness, and has managed something few can claim. Sherlock is not bored by him. He might fake it, or proclaim it from his absurd pose on the sofa, now and then, but John knows better.

John Watson is not the strangest Bot Sherlock has met in his life, he has worked with the Met for some years, you know. John is, however, the most human of the lot. Sherlock would never admit to it, but between you and I, he very nearly forgets, sometimes, that John is not, in fact, human. After all, there is no logical reason why John should object to the storage of experiments and limbs in the refrigerator - he cannot smell them, nor does he need to eat anything stored within it. Nevertheless, he does object. Rather vehemently, truth be told.

Secondly, he is cheered by mild weather, and disappointed with heavy rain. Again, no logic can account for this change in mood for one largely unaffected by inclement weather, but it is there nonetheless.

Thirdly; The Noises. Why does a Bot need to sigh when collapsing heavily into a much abused chair? His joint do not ache, nor are his muscles weary. Is he relieved to be sitting, safe, warm, dare I say, cozy?  
Absurd. Completely ridiculous, but there we are. John does indeed sigh, usually when lowering his body into a welcoming sofa after a particularly long day, and Sherlock notices it every single time. 

Sherlock also notices...perhaps 'notice' is too mild a word for the tickly little jolt in his belly, when John sighs or hums with pleasure. Many things elicit such sighs. When Sherlock stops using his violin like a second mouth, screeching obscenities at the back of Mycroft's retreating head, for instance. When John holds onto the warmth of a mug filled with hot tea. When Sherlock slides one hand up John's jumper, fingers playing at being Nipple Seeking Missiles...wait, no, that last one...that hasn't happened yet.

And there's the crux of Sherlock's problem. Not the Final Problem, let's be clear, but a Problem nonetheless.

Sherlock has reached this point in life without dipping toes into tedious mating rituals and romance. There is, however, a first time for everything. 

* * *

*Feel: concerning emotion and sensation, as felt by Bots, specifically, John Watson Bots.

Pressure, touch, movement are sensations available to most humanoid bots. It would, let's be honest, be rather difficult to survive amongst people without being equipped with basic sensory apparatus. Most bots can hear, that is, sound is detected and processed. Most humanoid bots can speak, some have many languages available to them. Many bots can identify scent, although John possesses a primitive system in this respect.

Bots do not get sick (excepting the occasional virus), can not spread disease with uncovered sneezes, though some have famously taken a crack at bio-warfare. Bots do not need food or water to survive, and are mostly impervious to the heat and cold of everyday weather.

As for emotions, well, as usual, things become trickier. No longer bound by Asimov's laws, Bots can 'hate' humans, can act on it. By and large, they do not. So far, there has been no great robot uprising, and while Bots enjoy many of the same rights as their human counterparts, many believe it won't.

Some Bots seem to enjoy things, the company of others, dew on grass in the foggy morning, sunsets over pristine beaches and such. Others deny that emotion, as humans know it, is possible. Attachment, affection, joy, love, regret and remorse, some believe, cannot be replicated or reproduced in chips and wires. How can love exist without the chemicals and evolutionary drive necessary to form bonds, without the need to procreate and come together? How, indeed.

As we learn more about Bots, and particularly, the more Sherlock learns about one specific, wonderful Bot, the more questions are raised regarding robots and their capacity for feeling. Questions such as, 'Has John ever had a lover?', 'Do Bots desire?' and, 'If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?' 

Pertinent questions. With luck, and a bit of sweet-talking, we hope answers will follow.

 

to be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to all who've read and left kudos on chapter one, most gratifying! 
> 
> Also, to those who read and didn't leave kudos, you're dead to me. lol jks.
> 
> <3 xo


End file.
